


Hands

by Yikes (CoralFlower)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Flashbacks, POV Morality | Patton Sanders, POV Second Person, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Trans Morality | Patton Sanders, Trauma, not exactly but idk what other word applies, the archive warnings are to be on the safe side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 18:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17689046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralFlower/pseuds/Yikes
Summary: (Patton's POV, Second Person)(this means "you" are Patton)You are sixteen when you feel it for the first time.





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> If you are young please listen to me: feeling dread or discomfort at the thought of seeing a romantic partner or going near a place you often see them is a sign that something is wrong. At the very least, you need to put that relationship on hold and ask for the support of a friend or trusted adult. The same goes for nausea, emptiness, fear, guilt, anxiety, panic, anything negative. This is important. Trust the feelings your stomach gives you. They are there for a reason.
> 
> This is a vent fic. It has mild victim blaming done by the victim, discussion of what it's like to be a transmasc teen, sensory flashbacks, discussion of some serious creeps, discussion of past attempted rape...
> 
> emotional manipulation, unwanted sexual contact, cussing...
> 
> I wrote this about Patton because I think that, as a young human teenager (13/14), he's the most likely sanders side to be very susceptible to emotional manipulation, because he cares about others and wants to help them, and my abuser (the third guy mentioned) took advantage of my sense of morality to manipulate me.
> 
> If you feel like you owe someone any kind of sexual or romantic contact, I'm here to tell you hey actually you don't, I promise. 
> 
> also!! this is in second person because that's how all my vent fics are

You are sixteen when you feel it for the first time.

Someone is touching your waist. And you know who it is, you know the touch intimately, the way you know your favourite song, because it is imprinted into your brain. The hands rest there like birds perched on your outstretched finger, and you are alone in your room, but someone is touching your waist.

There are hands on your waist, and your first instinct is to elbow him, but that is a bad idea, because it will only pull you deeper into the-- whatever this is. The hands on your waist move, and you flinch, squeezing your eyes shut, focusing on your breathing-- but that feels too much like how you handled it when it happened, when he was touching you in the hot tub and you were in his lap looking nice and hot in your swimsuit, grey, one piece, accentuating the curves you don’t want-- you’re lucky he’s bi.

You _were_ lucky. That’s over now.

You were lucky he’s bi. You were lucky he cared about you. You were lucky he didn’t want to hurt you. You were lucky he listened when you said stop, even if he argued about it at first before you reminded him he wanted to be a good person.

You were lucky he wanted to be a good person. You have not always been so lucky, which is why it is silly that this is happening now. Why his hands? Why not someone else’s, someone who hurt you for real instead of just giving you a frightening moment in a hot tub one summer? Why do the hands keep moving down?

He stopped before this point. You told him to stop, and he stopped, even if he complained, even if he tried to argue, even if he said something about his turn to touch you. He stopped. The hands do not stop. You whimper and feel stupid for it right afterwards. You are alone and no one is touching you. You are alone and no one is touching you. You are alone and no one is touching you.

If no one is touching you, why do you feel them touching your thighs and your waist and oh, now it’s that time on the schoolbus-- you were so young then, you fucking idiot-- he (different he) put his hand on your thigh and you could not breathe, you could not breathe. He was touching you.

There is no way that happened to you. It must have been someone else. The memory does not feel real, does not feel possible. It was too long ago and it was not real. It didn’t happen.

If it didn’t happen, why can you still feel his hand on your thigh through your jeans (you are not wearing jeans), the rush in your heart trying wildly to figure out what you were meant to feel, the softness of your sweater against your arms, the cold of the window on your cheek? If it didn’t happen, why--

Why did it happen?

You wanted to feel powerful and you wanted to seduce someone and you were so young (so young, you fucking idiot). He seemed like an easy target, and you only wanted to feel mature, maybe have something to brag about.

You also wanted to feel like a woman, the way you were supposedly supposed to.

You were the easy target. You made it easy, you young fucking idiot. Somehow he made you convince yourself you still felt powerful anyway. Somehow you stopped being an idiot for long enough to say no when he asked to kiss you. Somehow you saved your first kiss for someone who actually mattered.

So it’s okay, it wasn’t that bad. It could have been much worse.

It could have been--

The realisation slams into you like a wall you thought was further away when you looked over your shoulder to yell at someone as you walked.

It could have been him (completely new him). You were lucky he never touched you anywhere else and you were not planning to think about this, dammit! But now you are being hugged too, and hating it, and you have just realised that he offered you comicon tickets because he wanted to rape you in a hotel room in Chicago. It has been just about two years and it just now occurred to you that his motive was rape. And you were lucky he never did any of the terrifying things he so casually mentioned wanting. You were lucky he didn’t try to kiss you, or come see you at an after school activity, or anything else.

Another detail crawls into your brain. He said his friend would take him to comicon, his friend said he could bring a guest. Your brain refuses to follow the next step in this line of logic, and you are grateful for that.

Maybe there weren’t even comicon tickets. Maybe he would’ve just-- nope, think about a different thing right now immediately.

You know yourself (you idiot, you huge gullible fucking idiot) and if you come across cold now for not reaching out to guys who wear their negative emotions like bait on their sleeves, well, so be it. The hands are fading and you are breathing and none of it matters because none of it is going to happen again. You have other ways to feel powerful now. It will never happen again.

**Author's Note:**

> I am sensitive, so if you are going to mention second person pov in your comment, make sure you aren't being rude about it. I guarantee someone else has already said it for you.


End file.
